


Molly Hooper of John Grier Home

by Popcorn_Lover



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-31 23:47:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12143751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popcorn_Lover/pseuds/Popcorn_Lover
Summary: The life of Molly Hooper changed the moment she left the orphanage.She was no longer the girl from John Grier Home.She was never the same.*Loosely Based on Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster*





	1. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.

Molly Hooper could not quite feel her hands for they were swollen and red after hours of scrubbing the floors with icy water during winter. The first Wednesday of every month was the day where the Trustees and visiting committee would come to John Grier Home to make their obligatory rounds, read their reports, drink their tea and if necessarily, speak to the children who would always reply, as taught by the matron, with a respectful “Yes, sir”, “No, sir”.

At the age of seventeen, Molly was the oldest charge in the asylum and deemed not suitable to meet the guests which the young lady took it to her stride. One would not be able to survive in the orphanage with any other kind of mentality. Molly would then put herself to good use and assist with room F by taming their wild hair, wiping their runny noses and cleaning their grimy hands before sending them out in an orderly fashion for the guests to view.

The tiring day was finally over; Molly thought when she returned to her own room for a temporary respite until Tommy cheekily announced that Mrs Lippett, the matron asked for her presence in the office this very instant. Or perhaps not, Molly revised her thought with reluctance. She descended the flight of stairs and witnessed the departure of the last Trustee. The gentleman’s back was facing her where he waited for his ride. The vehicle approached its owner and the glaring headlights threw his shadow against the wall, picturing long and thin limbs.

It looked just like an enormous daddy-long-legs. Luckily, Molly was not afraid of spiders so she merely smiled at the amusing scene. Gathering her courage and taking in a deep breath, Molly knocked on the door and entered quietly upon the matron’s permission. To the young lady’s immerse relief, Mrs Lippett was also smiling.

“Take a seat,” the matron paused while Molly sat down before resuming, “You are an exception in John Grier Home, Molly. As you well know, we do not keep children after they are sixteen years old but you are intelligent and performed exceptionally well in your studies. Now that you are about to finish your education, the asylum unfortunately can no longer support you.” Mrs Lippett was never one to mince her words.

“The question of your future was brought up today and the common practice would be for you to start finding employment but one of our most influential Trustees had come up with a most unusual suggestion. He proposed to send you to a Ladies’ College in London and of course, the gentleman would sponsor it.” Molly was understandably speechless; no girl in the orphanage was ever presented with this rarest of opportunities. It was unheard of; Molly would not even dare to dream about the possibility of it, until now.

“In addition to your board and tuition being fully accounted for, you will also receive a monthly allowance of twenty pounds. He has only but one condition; you would have to write a letter of acknowledgement once a month detailing the progress in your studies and of your daily life as one would write to one’s parents. The gentleman wishes to remain anonymous and therefore you shall address him in your letters as Mr John Smith. Alas, do not expect any reply from him for he is no doubt a very busy man. Should you require an answer; you may correspond directly with Mr Griggs, his private secretary.”

Molly had to pinch herself hard to ensure that she was not dreaming or hallucinating. The young lady accepted the pain with a big grin on her face. Molly was pulled out of her reverie by a loud snap of the matron’s fingers. “You would need to board the earliest train to London tomorrow and that would leave us little time to prepare so do stop dilly-dallying around, Molly.”

“What, tomorrow?” The young lady panicked upon hearing that. It was too soon. What if she could not excel in school? What if the other girls mocked at her for being an orphan? What if she let everyone down? Especially Mrs Lippett who seemed just as excited as she was and even more so. The matron gently placed her hands on Molly’s thin shoulders, “I have faith in you but most importantly, you must have faith in yourself,” and smiled softly, “Now go and bid your farewells,” as she pointed to the group of children near the door.

Some were already sobbing with increasing loudness and the rest pretended that they were not tearing up because boys were not supposed to cry. Weeping, Molly rushed over to them as Mrs Lippett looked away for a short moment to sniffle delicately. It simply would not do for the children to see their matron crying.

 

* * *

 

Molly felt like Alice who dropped into the rabbit hole. It was an entirely different world – the train ride, the London streets, everything! The capital was mesmerising yet a trifle terrifying. Well-dressed gentleman would tip their top hats to ladies donning dresses that would probably be able to feed the orphanage for a whole year or longer. The sight made Molly horribly conscious of her plain black dress donated by one of the wives from the visiting committee few years ago so she picked up her pace, ignoring the pitying glances and whispers from her fellow pedestrians.

The uncomfortable sensation was immediately forgotten when Molly arrived at the Ladies’ College. The young lady was genuinely concerned that she might find herself lost within the labyrinth of hallways and schoolrooms. Her room was shared with two other first year students. Sallie McBride had red hair, a turn-up nose and was friendly. Julia Holmes, however, had yet to notice Molly for the former was buried under the countless of dresses that she had brought from home and was in serious contemplation as to where to place them when her wardrobe was already filled to the brim with her shoes.

Molly’s class had ended early and was returning to her room when she accidently bumped into a gentleman. He swiftly caught Molly by the elbows thus preventing her fall. “I’m terribly sorry, how clumsy of me!” The gentlemen in his top hat released her, “It is quite alright, Miss. You are not by any means hurt?” Molly shook her head meekly. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, Mr...” He kindly supplied his name, “Holmes, Mycroft Holmes.”

Holmes? Molly recalled Julia mentioning about an uncle of hers that was planning to visit her today. “Do you happen to be related to Julia Holmes? Are you her uncle?” The gentleman raised his eyebrows slightly, “Why yes, Julia is indeed my niece. I had just concluded my business in this area and promised to call on her but she was nowhere to be seen. Do you know where she is now?” Molly knocked on her forehead, “Oh of course, Julia had to attend the supplementary classes this afternoon. She must have forgotten to inform you about it.”

The gentleman pondered on, “Well then, do I have the honour of your presence as I take a walk around the school premises, Miss...” The young lady agreed to his request with a blush spreading across her cheeks, “Hooper, Molly Hooper.” The pair strolled along leisurely and rather aimlessly while conversing just about everything and anything. They even had tea and dainty cakes at the College Inn when taking a break from their impromptu excursion.  

In the end, Mr Holmes had to leave before his niece could be released from her classes and naturally, Julia was exasperated for missing him; it would seem that her uncle was a somewhat prominent figure in the government and it was an opportunity not to be missed for her to parade the poor gentleman about like a prized Thoroughbred in The Royal Ascot. As if she was not already proud of being a Holmes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two chapters are loosely based on Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster and My Daddy Long Legs, a 1990 Japanese anime television series that was also based on the novel so the majority of my first two chapters actually comes straight from them but the following chapters will differ from the novel and more from the Sherlock world instead. 
> 
> This fic will not be as Victorian as my other story, 'Parallel Universe' because the book was written in 1912 so I decided to stick to the slightly more modern style but still 'vintage'.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.

When summer vacation arrived, Mr John Smith had sent Molly to a countryside cottage. Well, to call it a cottage would be a fairly understatement for it was anything but small. The main house had eight rooms in total and consisted of five staff. The room that Molly occupied was furnished with a large bed in the middle, a mahogany writing table and a matching set of wardrobe and dresser. It was simple but of elegant taste.

“Is the food to your liking, Miss Molly?” Mrs Semple questioned in a motherly fashion which made Molly instantly warmed up to her. “I must insist that you call me Molly, Mrs Semple and the food is superb, thank you for your wonderful dinner.” The housekeeper beamed with satisfaction at Molly’s compliment and reached out to pat her hand. “I am glad that you liked it. It has been a long while since the house was this lively, all thanks to you, my dear.”

It was by chance that Molly found out the Semples actually knew of the Holmes; their previous employers were in fact old friends with the Holmes. They would often come over to the cottage to enjoy the cooling air in the countryside. The ladies would watch their children play together while the gentlemen would hunt for game. Molly felt a strange sense of melancholy; would this be her life had she was not an orphan?

Mrs Semple reminisced with a hint of sadness, “Gone were the heydays as the mistress who was already in ill health took a sudden turn for the worse and passed away weeks later. The master was so distraught by his loss; he did the unthinkable…Oh dear, what am I saying to a young lady like you? Well, it is getting dark. Perhaps we should all retire for the night.”

The atmosphere of the second day was significantly lifted as they received news of Mycroft Holmes, the only Holmes who kept in close contact with the Semples after Sir and Lady Holmes had both passed on, currently on his way over to the cottage. Everyone was busy preparing for the gentleman’s arrival. It was a surprise but a welcoming one to say the least. Molly had encountered Mr Holmes a number of times after she gave him a tour around the Ladies’ College and he was the perfect gentleman in every one of those meetings.

Mr Holmes came wearing tweeds instead of his usual three-piece suit, looking indeed like a proper country squire. He greeted the Semples cordially and bowed gracefully to Molly which further fuelled her blush. The young lady watched on as Mr Holmes listened to Mrs Semple enthusiastically filling him in with the recent happenings but caught him glancing at her with an almost unnoticeable quirk of his lips. Molly smiled shyly in return.  

During his short stay, she had the chance to interact with the gentleman when they went for horseback riding, explored the woods and fished; Molly even learnt to shoot firearms. They would eat under the big oak tree near the house and never seemed to run out of topics to converse. One would think that a gentleman of his calibre would find it tiresome dealing with a girl like her but Mr Holmes proved to be a very affable companion. Molly did not for once feel uncomfortable in his company.

On his last day, Mrs Semple packed a simple hamper for their fishing trip. Coming from a long line of country squires, the gentleman was an accomplished rider, fisher and hunter even though he was often desk-bounded due to the nature of his work and “the main reason for putting on some fair amount of pounds over the years”, Mr Holmes joked. They nibbled on sandwiches and an assortment of biscuits made by Mrs Semple herself while waiting for the fishes to bite.

“I believe it would to wise for us to leave now for there is a storm coming towards our way, Miss Hooper.” Mr Holmes pointed to the dark clouds not far away from them and assisted Molly to stand up. They reacted fast but the storm responded even quicker.

“Pardon my impertinence, Miss Hooper.” The gentleman shouted over the deafening rain and grabbed hold of Molly’s wrist, attempting to seek shelter. The pair came across a shallow cave and made a mad dash for it. Safe from the elements, Molly shivered as the chill from the drenched garments seeped right into her bones so Mr Holmes busied himself with building a fire for them.

The fire was slowly drying up their clothes as they sat side by side, waiting for the rain to abate. “You would not have suffered had I not request for your presence, Miss Hooper. Please accept my sincere apologies.” Molly was quick to wave it off, “It is not your fault, Mr Holmes. I agreed to come with you because I wanted to. Despite the storm, I did enjoy myself so please do not feel bad.”

Molly was no doubt blushing which the young lady was constantly guilty of whenever she was around him but Molly could not quite make out his expression. Was she being too forward? There were times where Molly felt like the gentleman was putting her at arm’s length but there were also times where she was convinced there was some form of a connection between them and surely not a one-sided affair on her part?

“It would be dishonest of me if I told you that I did not enjoy myself when I am in your company, Miss Hooper…” The gentleman trailed off and Molly could not help but be hopeful and afraid all at once as Mr Holmes began to lean in. Was he going to kiss her? Goodness, what should she do?

“Master Holmes! Miss Molly! There you are, we have been searching high and low for you two. Are you both alright?” Mycroft abruptly pulled back from her and the young lady blinked, struggling to make heads or tails about it. “Yes, we are both alright, thank you. Much appreciated for you coming to our rescue in the middle of this huge storm, Mr Semple.” The gentleman almost sounded relieved from the interruption.

The conversation was never brought up again but Molly was not one who would be easily disheartened. Her first school year was officially over and Julia invited Molly over to the Holmes Manor for their annual Christmas Ball. Needless to say, the Holmes Manor was nothing but grand. To Molly, it looked more like a museum rather than a house but if the goal was to impress and awe then it achieved its objective superbly.

Molly truly believed she stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. The topics never strayed away from jewels, dresses or parties; none of which she could join in. If one was not showing off their newly commissioned diamond bracelet then they would gossip about how an ugly shade of purple Lady Everton wore to the opera last night. The sole highlight for the young lady was catching a glimpse or two of Mr Holmes when he would greet them in the parlour before retiring to the study room with his elder brother in tow.

It was Christmas Eve and the Manor was positively buzzing with excitement. The Holmes’ Christmas Ball was always the talk of the town, as informed by Julia to Molly, where only the cream of the crop would be invited so she should feel honoured for being able to attend the most coveted event of the year. Molly nodded absentmindedly; her thoughts were all on the present that she had bought for Mr Holmes. She saved up her allowance money with plans to buy a Christmas gift for the gentleman.

The Ball was at its height now. The dance floor was packed, ladies swooned due to their tight corsets and gentlemen hiding away in the cigar-infused card room but Mr Holmes had yet to make an appearance. The hostess signalled for the music to pause and everyone, without much prompting, gathered in front of the landing as if they were expecting something. Molly furrowed her brows in confusion but followed nonetheless.

It was then she noticed Mr Holmes was standing with his brother and sister-in-law but there was also a lady by his side. “Thank you all for attending our annual Christmas Ball. I hope you have a wonderful night but this year is even more special for our family for I am extremely pleased to announce the engagement of my younger brother, Mycroft Holmes and Lady Smallwood!” The crowd erupted into applause and Molly never felt more alone.

So it was just her wishing thinking then. You are so silly, Molly Hooper! Their eyes finally met, hers brimmed with tears while his impassive. The need to escape practically screamed at Molly so she ran and ran. Tears continued to blind her and eventually caused her to collide with someone. A young man, tall for his age and with black curly hair stared at her.

The man then bent down and picked up a box. She gasped; it must have dropped when they bumped into each other. “It’s mine, give it back to me.” If this was under normal circumstances, Molly would not be this horrid but what took place earlier on had greatly upset her. Instead of handing it over to Molly, he began to speak rather rapidly.

“I see this is undoubtedly for someone very important to you considering the great amount of effort put into wrapping this little package of delight but it is sub-standard at best which shows that you are not in a position of preparing gifts until recently. This would be indicative of your background, evident by the dress you are wearing.” Molly’s face burned as the man ranted on mercilessly. He clearly had no plans to spare her feelings.

“Also, the shade of red echoes the dress – either an unconscious association or one that you are deliberately trying to encourage. However, the fact that you are crying means that the relationship was terminated or perhaps did not even start, probably due to the unequal social status if the man of your dreams is one of the guests here unless you are here for Louis the footman then you are overdress-” Molly ended the man’s speech prematurely with a slap.

The young lady gaped at her hand in absolute shock; she had just slapped a man. Granted, it was warranted but the truth was she slapped him! Mrs Lippett would be so disappointed in her. Oh no, what had she done? Appalled, Molly pushed away the man and disappeared in the winter night. The young lady prayed she would never meet the man ever again. Sherlock Holmes remained stationary as the effects caused by the drugs subsided while still holding the box.

Molly received a much-anticipated letter at her second school year. The board reviewed Molly’s application and decided to award her the scholarship. She happily informed Mr Smith of the great news and also of her insolent request to redraw his sponsorship so he could bestow it to another girl worthy of the once-in-a-lifetime chance but Molly had hoped they would be able to carry on with their correspondence as she now considered him as family which was something she did not have until she met him.

A short and terse letter arrived few days later, merely saying that Mr Smith accepted Molly’s request and wished her all the best. Molly had never heard from them afterwards. It was soon the end of another school year and Molly was on her way to purchase some books for her final exams when she came across Mr Griggs. Though Molly had only met him in person twice, she was sure it was the same man.

Molly was saddened by the loss of the gentleman from her life so she tried to approach Mr Griggs, hoping the kind man would spare her a couple of minutes for her to ask upon his employer’s well-being. The young lady followed after Mr Griggs and saw him greeting Mr Holmes in a deferential manner. Molly then came to an astonishing conclusion, Mycroft Holmes was John Smith.

The young lady walked up to them, “Why did you not tell me? Why did you hide your identity? Did you find it amusing? Was I the source of your entertainment? What you must have think of me - a stupid little girl. How could I not realise it sooner? What were the chances of you knowing the Semples and also to visit when I was visiting? I am such a fool…” Molly laughed humourlessly; it was the last straw that broke the camel’s back or to be exact, broke her heart.

“You, Mr Holmes, are no gentleman.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and started to leave when he spoke in a soft voice, “Would it change anything had you know the truth? Would it even matter?” Molly expelled an exhausted sigh, ““You are right; it would not change anything for the truth no longer matters, for _you_ no longer matters. I wish you and Lady Smallwood a very happy life ahead, Mr Holmes.”

History repeated itself when Molly had to flee from Mycroft Holmes for the second time so of course she would once again run into the rude and nameless gentleman. He frowned at her tears and despite Molly’s near-desperate tugs, did not release her wrist which he had captured during their point of collision. The urge to remove herself from his presence was even stronger than when she was with Mycroft Holmes. Molly did not want this man to be the one who would see her in her most pathetic state every bloody time!

He looked over his shoulder and wordlessly dragged her into an alley. Alarmed, Molly resisted with all her might but it was apparent she was no match for the gentleman. “I am currently investigating some exceedingly dangerous criminals who regrettably must have found out I was following them so if you keep on struggling and attracting unwanted attention then I cannot guarantee your safety, Miss.”

If Molly knew of any swear words other than ‘bloody’, she would throw it at him right away so she had no choice but to resort to the only swear word she knew. “Why should I bloody believe you? I do not even know you! Let go of me or I shall scream. You have my word that I shall scream like a lunatic, do you hear-” Unlike Molly, Sherlock Holmes did not end her speech with his hand; he accomplished the task with his mouth instead.

Molly froze as she felt the gentleman, no, rouge’s tongue exploring the outline of her lips. The scandalous act shocked Molly of her stupor and she retaliated on impulse. It would seem that the two had somehow managed to establish a routine that would always inevitably be concluded with a slap. After two cries from her, two slaps received by him and their virgin kiss given to one another, this was how the friendship between Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes had begun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is one lengthy 2-part prologue but as promised, the story will now be in line with the Sherlock world.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.

It was ten years ago when Sherlock Holmes first met Molly Hooper. Within that period of time, he had achieved his dream of being the world’s first and only consulting detective, Molly became the first woman pathologist in St. Bart’s while John, his old flatmate was married and now a child on his or her way although the consulting detective would bet on the latter based on his own observations.

“But we would only know after the baby is born, Sherlock.” John stated and the consulting detective fought the temptation to appear bored. After living under the same roof for such a long time, one would think the doctor might pick up some deduction skills from him but John obstinately maintained his habit of seeing but not observing. Sherlock’s trip to his mind palace was then disrupted by a sensual voice in his sitting room.    

“I expected books of the Sciences, romance novels and _Debrett's Peerage & Baronetage_ but I most certainly did not expect to see this in your collection, Mr Holmes.” Irene Adler dubbed as The Woman traced a finger down the spine of _The Art of Beekeeping_ with barely concealed amusement shining brightly in her cat-like eyes but behind it was an even badly concealed dangerous glint.

Sitting on his chair, the consulting detective replied nonchalantly, “It was for a case, a bee stinger was used as the murder weapon to create the illusion that her death was an accident when she was gardening. Mundane case but a rather clever _modus operandi_.” Irene Adler merely smiled at him as she took the seat opposite his.    

_“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Molly greeted cheerfully when Sherlock was sulking by the window. The other guests paid no heed to his actions when he already made it abundantly clear Christmas was turning too commercial for his taste thus losing its meaning and therefore necessity. As such, it was considered a great feat for the consulting detective to attend the party. Of course, how could one not show up when it was actually held at one’s residence?_

_Sipping the champagne she received from the Detective Inspector, Molly gradually made her way over to the consulting detective. “I know you do not wish to partake in the celebrations but I would still like to give you a present, Sherlock.” The pathologist held up a gift with a satin bow in the middle._

_He accepted it with a nod and Molly jested, “Are you trying to deduce the present? Stop that; it will just take away the joy of opening it which is the whole point of wrapping in the first place.” Sherlock mumbled, “Rest assured I am not, Molly. This does not call for my deduction skills. I only need to make one educated guess.” The Watsons joined in the conversation, “So what is it then? A jar of eyeballs? A riding crop? Oh I know! A harpoon!”_

_Oh, do be serious, John!” The ladies erupted into giggles at the doctor’s exaggerated expression as Sherlock retorted with good humour, “Those, John, are not educated guesses. One does wonder what exactly Mary sees in you. The shape, thickness and weight of it all points to a book so the question would be of what subject.”_

_“Hmm, pathology? Crime psychology? Human anatomy? Tobacco ashes? Baconian method? Help me out here, my dear.” The doctor called for assistance. Mary tapped her chin and sank into deep thoughts, “Gardening?” John gave his wife a disbelieving look only to be colour him astonished when Molly told them that Mary’s guess was in fact closest to the truth._

_“I recalled the conversation we had when we were discussing about the case of the bee sting murder. You talked about how you would like to be a beekeeper after you retired because you are fascinated by them. Not that I am wishing for your early retirement per say but perhaps you can start stocking up your mind palace with this book first?” Molly grinned nervously at the consulting detective._

_Sherlock reciprocated with a small smile of his own, “You remembered?” The pathologist’s grin widened, “Why would I forget?” He looked at the present guiltily, “I did not…” Molly shook her head, “You do not have to, Sherlock.” The consulting detective then opened a drawer and took out a box. “This does not constitute as one but you dropped it on the night we first met. I should have returned this to you a long time ago.”_

_Memories promptly resurfaced when Molly saw the box, she had forgotten all about it. The pathologist held no ill feelings towards Mycroft Holmes or what Sherlock would refer him as The British Government. The gentleman did not purposefully mislead her; it was all simply her wishful thinking. Molly would like to think they were now acquaintances on friendly terms._

_“Unfortunately I have no use for this. You can have it if you want, Sherlock…I am sorry. I did not mean to come across as rude. I am not asking you to just take it because you are second-best...No, that sounded even worse…” Engrossed, the Watsons drank their wine and watched the scene unfolding between the two._

_“Why is this so much better than the play we went to last week?” John whispered to his wife who in turn shushed him. “Molly, it is fine. I am not offended. I do have use for it for my old one was damaged when I was chasing after the water ghost killer so thank you for the second gift. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.” Sherlock kissed the pathologist’s cheek tenderly._

The consulting detective looked away and stood up. “You may rest in John’s former room, I am sure you know which one is that. Good night.” Irene Adler crossed her legs and leaned back, “I was under the impression that you rescued me in exchange for information regarding Professor Moriarty?”

Pausing momentarily, Sherlock dug out his pocket watch, “I have obtained what I needed. Kindly convey my message to him – if he wishes to play then I am waiting.” The Woman then purred, “My, what an exquisite silver watch chain you have here, Mr Holmes. You, sir, are a man of many surprises.” He did not dignify her question with a response and went straight to his room.

_“Our Mother, may her soul rest in peace, would be happy, Sherlock.” The British Government commented with a tilt of his head. “Cease trying to be smart, Mycroft. It is unbecoming of you.” The consulting detective adjusted the tuning pegs and resumed with his playing._

_“The style of your new watch chain is not what you would have chosen for yourself. The design is intricate and delicate, a trifle impractical when one is running around and hunting down the underbelly of England and yet you wore it. Last but not least, the choice selected was more inclined to be of a woman’s pick so pray tell if I should already offer you my heartfelt congratulations, brother mine?” Sherlock wished he could wipe the smirk off Mycroft’s obnoxious and chubby face._

_“When will I be expecting a niece or nephew from you, brother mine?” If anything, that did the trick. The consulting detective knew Mycroft would remark upon it. His brother might not recognise the origin of the watch chain but Sherlock did. The gift was not initially meant for him but it was now his and Sherlock would fiercely guard what belonged to him. Unbeknownst to the British Government, this was Sherlock staking his claim._

It was long past morning and the consulting detective was still sleeping, contrary to his usual habit of resting for a few hours sporadically across the span of the entire day and why, when he was busy, the man would not sleep at all until the case at hand was solved. Mrs Hudson was worried for Sherlock but the presence of a woman in his flat prevented the landlady from going up in fear of seeing something her feeble heart could not take.

Molly greeted the landlady who opened the door for her and went up the stairs so quickly Mrs Hudson could not warn her in time. Biting her lip, the landlady wondered if she should follow the pathologist and dismissed the idea for it would be rather awkward for everyone.

Molly was waiting for Sherlock to review the laboratory results together as agreed but one hour later, the man was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, Molly headed over to 221B Baker Street to make sure the consulting detective was alright. “Sherlock? Are you-” The pathologist halted when a woman emerged from his room. “I am sorry, Sherlock is still not awake. He was rendered unconsciousness, the poor man. It was wholly my fault, you see,” Irene Adler spoke coyly while placing herself on the consulting detective’s chair.  

Molly fidgeted from where she stood and tripped over her words, “W-well, please tell h-him the laboratory results are out and he may retrieve a copy of it from St. Bart’s.” But The Woman stopped her departure, “And who should I say when Sherlock asks for a name?” Molly answered, “Dr Hooper would suffice.”

Irene Adler pretended to be pleasantly surprised, “You must be _the_ Dr Molly Hooper of St. Bart’s. Sherlock have told me so much about you, Dr Hooper.” The pathologist uttered a “Thank you” before leaving hastily. Molly returned to the morgue with a distracted mind, her disorderly train of thoughts was interrupted by a low voice.

“You will forgive me for coming over here unannounced, my love? The very second my feet touched England’s soil, I immediately rushed to St. Bart’s for I have missed you so, Molly.” Thomas Doyle hugged his beloved tightly and heaved a sigh of relief. Only when she was by his side could he then feel at ease.

“I have missed you too, Tom. I am glad for your return!” Chuckling, Tom pulled back slightly and kissed her hands with reverence. “I did not believe in love at first sight, Molly, until I met you. It was the best mistake I have ever committed when I got lost in St. Bart’s and entered the morgue by accident. I had completely forgotten the reason as to why I was visiting the hospital and all I could do was to stare at you like a madman.”

Molly exclaimed when Tom produced a ring from his pocket, “I knew you are the one for me when I first laid my eyes on you. I love you, Molly, so very much. Please make me a happy man for the rest of my life by saying that you will be my wife? Will you marry me, Molly Hooper?” The pathologist saw no reason to reject his proposal so she said, “Yes, I will marry you, Thomas Doyle.”

The merchant whooped in delight and carried his fiancée, twirling in circles until both were seeing stars yet laughing like a pair of school children. It was perhaps not the best place to express happiness but who would be lodging a complaint against them? The pathologist then had the strangest thought. Molly did not like the woman whom she encountered earlier on. It was no female jealously. Her instincts told her that the woman was dangerous.

Sherlock retreated from the morgue as quietly as he could in his current state. The powerful drug administrated by Irene Adler last night was still running strong within his system. Shortly after Molly left, the consulting detective cracked opened an eye and was quick to figure out what happened. The drug might incapacitate his body but not his mind. The Woman had escaped but she was not his utmost priority. Sherlock managed to stumble down the stairs and hail a carriage but he was too late. As always, he was too late.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has quite a lot of flashbacks so I hope you readers would not feel confused when reading it.
> 
> P.S. Dear Andriana, if you are reading this, I remembered you told me before that you loathed Tom but maybe you will hate him less if I ask you to imagine Tom Hiddleston playing Thomas Doyle? *wink wink* Who knows, you might just end up feeling sorry for him instead? (Oops, spoiler alert!)


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.

“Ah, Mr Holmes, I hope you have not been waiting for long?” Charles Augustus Magnussen entered the spacious study and his butler closed the double doors behind him. “No, Mr Magnussen, I was early.” He sat behind the massive table and snuggled against his leather chair. “How can I be of assistance to you, Mr Holmes?”

“I am here on behalf of my client. Cease your blackmailing and hand over all the information you have gathered in relation to my client before I am forced to take drastic measures.” Magnussen threw back his head and laughed heartily, “Now who is threatening who? The consulting detective that professed and I quote - sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, the very same one who ostensibly uphold logic and reasoning above everything else is now _emotional_.”

Magnussen took one look at Sherlock and sneered. “Does Professor Moriarty haunt your dreams? One has to be constantly updated in order to stay ahead and of course I had the honour of meeting The Woman, she was most obliging.” He pushed his glasses up, “…Or is Redbeard still the cause of your nightmares? Tsk tsk, I cannot imagine how you must feel, Mr Holmes, seeing the love of your life joining in holy matrimony with another man…”

Magnussen then rasped loudly. After all, it was rather hard to breathe when one was choking. “You are truly the vilest creature I have ever met and I have encountered numerous criminals throughout my career. Take my advice as gospel, if you do not stop what you are doing, I will haunt you. I will become your nightmare, Magnussen and my brother can rot in hell for putting you under his protection.” Sherlock removed his arm from Magnussen’s throat and swept out of the room while the older man dropped to the carpeted floor, gasping for air with his glasses askew.

_File #57_

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes_

_Pressure points:_

_Opium_

_Martha Hudson (see file #162)_

_John (see file #130) and Mary Watson (see file #84)_

_James Moriarty (see file #29)_

_Redbeard_

_Molly Hooper (see file #290)_

Magnussen always loved to save the best for last.

“Age does not seem to dilute your recklessness, Sherlock. You are as impulsive as you were in the past.” The British Government rebuked his younger brother harshly; he had rushed down to 221B after hearing the news of Sherlock confronting Magnussen at his own house, most unwise! “The lowlife does not deserve to live and you know it.”

Mycroft leaned onto his cane, “You will have to find a way to come to terms with it for he is now under the government’s protection.” The consulting detective scoffed with disdain, “More likely he has hold the entire upper class captive with all their dirty little secrets - who had an affair with who, who had to retire to the countryside for ten months after said affair, who accepted bribes, who could not control their urge for stealing knick-knacks, who had discovered their true preference of the same sex and so forth.”

The British Government pursed his lips. “It is one way to phrase it. May I implore you, brother mine to end your hunt for Magnussen?” Sherlock responded hotly, “You may not! Mycroft, we may not see eye to eye all the time but until today I had believed we were on the same side, the side of angels and if so, why the bloody hell are you protecting him?”

Mycroft shook his head in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself, Sherlock? The battle between angels and demons? If one must be romantic about it, one might as well called it the everlasting struggle of humanity. The beastly truth is there are simply too many things out of our control or reach. I know you still think of Redbeard,” The consulting detective cut him off agitatedly, “For God’s sake, Mycroft, Redbeard was just a dog!”

“He was your best friend, Sherlock.” The British Government murmured as Sherlock showed him the door for he was no longer welcome in 221B, “The operative word being _was_ ,” and unceremoniously slammed the door in his face.

 

* * *

 

There were never easy days in the morgue but today was undoubtedly one of the hardest for Molly. Jimmy McBride, Sallie’s brother and Julia’s husband, was lying on the metal table in front of them. He received a shot to his forehead and died instantaneously. The killer also left a note.              

_Then we shall play, Mr Consulting Detective._

_Professor James Moriarty_

It was written with Jimmy’s blood.

Mrs McBride had fainted at the sight of her son covered with a white cloth so Julia’s heart wrenching wails were the only sounds in the morgue. Feeling useless, all Molly could do was to wrap her arms around Sallie who was shaking and trying to stifle her cries. No words of comfort were passed around; they would not bring Jimmy back to life.  

Few days later, Molly found Sherlock in the laboratory and overheard the heated argument. “You are fully aware of the fact that drugs help me to think, John. I need to think ergo I need the drugs.” The doctor threw his arms in the air. “You are on the brink of overdose, Sherlock! As a doctor and as your best friend, I must ask you to cease taking them right now.” Avoiding eye contact, the consulting detective bowed over his experiment and replied, “How can one stop when crime does not?”

“If this continues, you are going to die.” Deflated, John massaged his throbbing head. “If I do not stop Moriarty, more people will die.” Sherlock answered firmly and the argument ended with the doctor storming out of the laboratory.

“John is just worried about you. We all are, Sherlock.” The pathologist said quietly. “I am fine, Molly.” She frowned at his patronizing tone, “It is alright if you want to lie to me but please do not lie to yourself because it will merely make you feel even worse after doing so.” Sherlock lifted his head. “Are you speaking from experience? Have you ever lied to yourself?” Molly’s pupils dilated while her breath hitched, “…Yes.”

Upon her admission, the consulting detective took a step towards her, “Why?”

Molly suddenly found their roles reserved. “Sometimes it is for the better…”

One more step. “Is it really for the better?”

And another. “For who? For oneself?

Her heart started to beat a trifle faster. “Because I did not feel any better, Molly.”

Sherlock carried on invading her space, “You were right, I feel much worse than before - when I was still immersed in blissful ignorance. Now I feel like I am in hell for I cannot speak of the truth and it burns my heart, Molly. It burns.”

The pathologist was cornered with her back against the wall. She was trapped but so was he. The consulting detective resembled an injured animal, unable to move and looking at her so intently as if she was his salvation.

Molly’s mouth parted slightly and her eyes fluttered as Sherlock caressed her cheek. The moment disappeared when Julia entered the laboratory with a pistol and pointed it at her uncle. “It is your fault! You killed Jimmy! Why must you implicate us all? Mummy is right; you are the black sheep of our family!” The consulting detective hurriedly pulled Molly behind him, shielding her.

“Julia, calm down. We can sit down and talk about it. Put the gun down, you might hurt yourself.” The pathologist spoke with composure but Julia did not come here to listen. “Shut up or I will shoot you too! Jimmy would not have died if it were not for you; you need to pay for what you did!” She fired with unsteady hands and Molly threw herself in the bullet’s trajectory before it could come into contact with Sherlock

Luckily, Julia did not know how to operate a firearm and the shot was off-target, only grazing the pathologist’s arm but Julia McBride née Holmes was never same from that day on. None of them were.

 

* * *

 

Molly had not seen the consulting detective for days and she was even prepared to question the British Government regarding his brother’s whereabouts. The pathologist was returning home when she noticed a man dressed in rags on the pavement. People steered clear of him because of his stench but Molly moved closer.

Her eyes widened in recognition. “What in heavens happened to you? My residence is two streets away; can you stand up and walk?” She practically had to drag the consulting detective along; he was not in a good condition.

Molly gave Sherlock a quick examination; her heart ached for him as she took in the various bruises and cuts on his body. “I was in disguise for one of my cases when four ruffians caught me off guard and attacked me.” The consulting detective explained concisely and she inquired, “Do you want me to call John?” A soft “No” was emitted from him. Molly made no further remarks and went to retrieve her emergency medical bag.  

“All done. Your injuries are quite serious so I will not want you to move around unnecessarily. If you do not mind, you can stay in the guest room for the night.” The pathologist offered with a smile. “Mr Doyle would not mind my presence in your house?” Molly began to clear the mess from her frantic stitching, “As you have well mentioned, this is _my_ house, not his. How are you faring?”

“It looks like I will live to see another day thanks to your excellent stitching skills.” Molly clenched her fists, “I am not talking about your wounds. Do not pretend you failed to comprehend me, Sherlock. You need not confide in me but if you need anything, anything at all, I am here for you.”

“Did it hurt?” Sherlock touched her arm gingerly.

“Not anymore.” It sent tingling sensations down Molly’s spine.

“Did it leave a scar?” She did not forget the intimate moment they shared before the shooting.

“Merely a tiny one.” The pathologist could not forget even if she wanted to.

“Molly, I think I am going to die.” She grabbed his trembling hand

“What do you need?” Sherlock squeezed her hand in response.

“If I was not everything that you think I am, everything that _I_ think I am, would you still want to help me?” Molly returned the gesture.

“What do you need?” The consulting detective held onto her hand like it was his lifeline.

“You.” Their fingers interlocked and Sherlock finally found the solace he was searching for in his haven.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know what is going to take place next. Please enjoy!


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.

_"You are a very persistent man, Mr Holmes. I imagined you have already searched my London home and perhaps even my hotel room but you have come up with nothing?" Magnussen sniggered, "Pray not waste your time for you have precious little of it. They are kept in the safest vault in the world."_

_Sherlock brandished a revolver, aiming it at his head. "There is no such thing as an impregnable fortress." Magnussen crooked an ugly smile. "She is right; you do enjoy the thrill of playing with Death. Always trying to be the hero."_

_"I am no hero, Magnussen. I am just a consulting detective." The shot was loud but the raging waters of The Reichenbach Falls swallowed it and the bodies which followed soon after._

A search team found two corpses at the bottom of the waterfall. One was identified as Charles Augustus Magnussen while the other, though badly disfigured from the sharp rocks and thus rendered unrecognizable, was identified as Sherlock Holmes by the clothes he was last seen in by the hotel attendants and later confirmed by his brother, Mycroft Holmes.

The events leading to their demises were established by the Swiss police as such – Sherlock Holmes was investigating Charles Magnussen whereby the former had pursed the latter to Switzerland. The pair met and a scuffle broke out, sending both men plunging down the Falls.

"He is still alive?" Mary asked quietly. "What?" Standing a short distance away, the ladies kept a watchful eye on John who was spending some time alone with the consulting detective in his freshly made grave. "Sherlock is still alive, is he not?" She reiterated urgently and the pathologist looked the other way, "What made you say so, Mary?"

The former assassin quipped, "Because he is Sherlock Holmes?" Molly knew the light-hearted reply hid a woman suffocating in intense guilt. Mary did not want to believe Sherlock was dead because of her. How could she shamelessly live her life like it was no fault of hers when she knew the consulting detective gallantly sacrificed his own for her, for John, for his godchild?

Taking in the solemn expressions which seemed to leech onto the Watsons perpetually, Molly sighed, "Rosamund." Mary was confused by the remark so she waited for the pathologist's clarification.

"Before Sherlock left, he hoped the child would be named Rosamund. He wanted his goddaughter, he was adamant it would be a girl, to be as brave, as wise and as strong as her namesake. He believed it would be appropriate, signifying a new start for everyone. He also though you would like the idea very much since you never gotten the chance to use it for yourself."

Molly hugged the mother-to-be as she cried silently. "He wished for you to be free from the shackles of your past, Mary. He will be fine. All of us will be fine, I promise you." The pathologist whispered into Mary's ears.

"Molly! I am dreadfully sorry for not being able to attend Mr Holmes' funeral. Are you feeling alright?" Tom ran up to his fiancée and kissed her forehead lovingly when she came through the door. The pathologist nodded wearily when, "I know it is probably not the best of times to bring it up but we should set a date for our wedding soon."

She pushed herself away from Tom. "Since you know very well it is not the right time then why are you still doing it? I cannot honestly believe here you are talking about the wedding when we had just buried Sherlock, he may not be your friend but he is mine!"

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, "This is _our_ wedding, Molly! You are my fiancée so can you please act like one? Can you at least pretend you are happy about us spending the rest of our lives together? Dear heavens, even after his death, Sherlock Holmes is still haunting us! How does one get rid of that wretched man once and for all?" The pathologist's hand reacted on its accord.

Aside from Molly's palm, her engagement ring also left its mark on Tom's cheek. The couple was stunned and their minds went blank for a minute until Molly recovered, removing the ring from her finger and giving it back to Tom. "Clearly both of us need time to cool down and to carefully consider if we should continue this relation-"

Tom wrapped his hand around hers, enclosing the ring in Molly's fist before embracing the pathologist anxiously. "Molly, I am so sorry, I did not know what came over me. Please forgive me, my love. I should not be saying such things about a man who had recently departed. It is wrong of me, I know. Do not leave me. I love you, Molly…"

The pathologist was not angry with Tom because he was right. Dead or alive, Sherlock Holmes would always be in her heart and it was wrong.

 

* * *

 

"Can I ask of you to be more careful in the future? I would sincerely like to patch you up less often, Sherlock." The pathologist muttered as she fastened the bandage around the consulting detective's torso. "Molly, I am already 'dead' so it is something, or nothing to be said of me being careful."

"Do not feel the need to make jokes, Sherlock. It is really not your area." Molly ignored his knowing smirk and glared at the consulting detective, daring him to make any comment about her statement and he did not.

"Rosie is now learning to stand. Here," she handed Sherlock a sliver locket, "Mary wanted you to have it since you have not met your goddaughter yet." He opened and in it was a photograph of a baby with rounded cheeks. The consulting detective's face softened, "She is beautiful," as he stroked the picture and spoke breathlessly. Immensely proud of their godchild, Molly concurred whole-heartedly.

"When are you coming back? After you have captured that Professor Moriarty?" Sherlock closed the locket and looked away. "You said once Moriarty is captured then all is well and you will return, yes?" Crossed at the lack of response, Molly forcefully turned him so he was facing her, "You _are_ coming back, are you not? Sherlock, look at me. Answer me!"

Staring into his lustreless eyes, the pathologist shook her head in vehement denial, "No, no you are coming back, Sherlock Holmes! Mrs Hudson has not let out your lodgings and kept everything as they were. Rosie is still waiting to meet her godfather for the first time; Mary is also looking forward to your return. Not to mention John visiting your grave every week and I…"

_And I am waiting for you too._

"Molly, I killed Magnussen. I was the one who shot him. Even if one does something wrong for all the right reasons, it is still wrong. As a consulting detective, I should all the more hold myself against the highest of morals instead of bending the rules to justify myself. A wrong is a wrong, no matter how right it seems."

_Like loving you._

Sherlock held the pathologist's shoulders and smiled forlornly. He then asked, "So when is the wedding?" Sobered, Molly brushed off her tears. "February the ninth." The consulting detective retrieved his coat and took out a brooch from its hidden pocket. It was a bee decorated with semi-precious stones on both wings.

"I hope you will be very happy, Molly Hooper. The engravings behind the wings are written in the language of the East. They are both my blessing and my most fervour wish to you." Her fingertips swept across the eight characters over and over again. The pathologist knew she would never love anyone as deeply as she loved Sherlock, not even Thomas Doyle.

执子之手 与子偕老

 

* * *

 

"Dr Hooper." The British Government greeted her courteously. Morgue visits by Mycroft Holmes were rare in the past and more so after Sherlock's 'death' as per discussed. "Mr Holmes, did something happen to…?" The pathologist trailed off uncertainly and exhaled in relief when she heard him answered in negative.

"Alas, I am here bearing sad news – Mr Semple had passed away. Mrs Semple is, as you would imagine, distressed at his sudden death and I thought it would be good if you could be so kind as to accompany Mrs Semple for a day or two, to tide her over the initial grieving stage." Molly began to tidy up her desk so she could leave as soon as possible.

"A car will be here shortly to pick you up. It will take you to your residence first before driving to the cottage and it will also send you home the next day. I hope you will not take offense as I have taken matters into my own hands and already applied for leave on your behalf."

The pathologist cocked her head to one side, "Of course not, Mr Holmes. I am grateful that you have thought of me." The British Government made a small bow and walked out of the morgue.

They were never meant to be, Molly mused in hindsight.

Mrs Semple received her with a faint smile; she was always fond of Molly. The pathologist scrambled out of the vehicle, dropped her luggage and proceeded to embrace Mrs Semple as tight as she could. The silent exchange between the two spoke louder than words could.

Molly allowed the housekeeper to coddle her, anything to let Mrs Semple to cope with her loss. The pathologist's stomach was close to bursting but Molly dutifully ate whatever Mrs Semple placed on her plate.

"I suppose I should take comfort in his swift passing. He was getting rid of the weeds when a bee stung him. We did not know he was particularly averse to bee poison which accelerated his death and he was gone within the same day."

_Bee sting?_

Before Molly could even attempt to console her, Mrs Semple was already directing the rest of the staff to prepare for the pathologist's bath. Perhaps she should let the housekeeper decide which topics to talk about and when to end them but Molly found herself tossing and turning after she went to bed.

Frustrated, the pathologist kicked off the covers and exited her room. The long hallway was fairly dark so Molly took with her a candlestick by the nightstand and lit the half-used candle. The flame swayed weakly against the draught and she put up one hand to protect it.

Molly wandered about and she could sense a pair of eyes following her but every time she turned, there was no one save herself. A room at the end of the narrow corridor caught Molly's attention and the pathologist walked towards it in a daze, as if it was beckoning her.

_Open it_

The door hinges groaned from the many years of disuse. Molly waved the candlestick from left to right and it illuminated the contents of the room. There were shelves full of dolls, miniature tables and chairs with tea sets, playhouses and rocking horses. The pathologist thought it was quite sad a scene as they were all covered in a thick layer of dust, like time had stopped then and there.

Molly jumped, nearly dropping the candlestick when someone touched her shoulder. "Why are you doing here in the middle of the night, Molly? Come, I will escort you to your room for it is late," Mrs Semple chided as she placed a hand on the pathologist's back, shepherding her out of the room.

Morning arrived within hours and the house looked less frightening in the day. Molly's escapade was left unmentioned and the pair broke their fast quietly. However, the pathologist could not stop thinking about what she saw. "The room I entered last night, did it belong to the children of the family you formerly served?"

"Aye, the little misses loved to play in that room. Which child would not? Master and Mistress doted on them." The housekeeper's expression brightened then dimmed upon her rumination but Molly pushed on, "Do you know where they are now?" The question in her mind grew so big; it took full possession of the pathologist. Mrs Semple stiffened, "I…I do not really know. Last time I heard, they were well taken care of."

Molly casted a worried look at the elderly woman as she entered the awaiting car; the pathologist was debating if she should stay for another night but Mrs Semple steadfastly refused, not willing to further trouble her when Molly was already so busy.

"I will visit you whenever I am free. If you desire for my company, inform me whether it is via Mr Holmes or by letter. Please take great care of yourself, Mrs Semple." The housekeeper nodded benignly at her, "I will, take care too, my dear." The vehicle drove off and Molly stuck her head out of the window, waving ferociously until Mrs Semple was reduced to a mere dot.

Rapidly tapping her fingers against her knees, the pathologist deliberated then spoke to the driver. "I would like to see Julia before going back if you please." It was more than a year after Jimmy's death and Molly was glad to see Julia recovering well from her nervous breakdown.

The pathologist beamed at her old friend, "I was in the vicinity and thought of calling on you. You look well, Julia." She grinned shyly. "Thank you. Molly, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for shooting you…"

The pathologist stopped her, "It was an accident, Julia. You did not mean it and besides, I am alright now," but Julia rambled on, "No, you do not understand, Molly. Few days after Jimmy had died, I encountered a woman and we started to converse or it was more like she talked and I listened." Molly knew she would not like what was to come.

"I could not quite recall what she told me only that I ended up feeling so angry at Uncle Sherlock and blamed him for Jimmy's death. All I could hear, all I could think of was _kill him, kill Sherlock Holmes_ so I went to Daddy's townhouse, nicked a gun from his collection, loaded it, God knows how I figured out how to do that, and went to St Bart's with the words _kill him, kill Sherlock Holmes_ ringing in my ears."

Astounded by the startling revelation, Molly tried to gather her lost wits. "How does she look like? Can you still remember?" Julia scrunched her face in full concentration, "Nothing out of the ordinary or striking about her. Brunette and brown eyes, just like you, Molly." Could the woman be Irene Adler in disguise, as forewarned by Sherlock?

It was time for Julia to rest and Molly bided farewell. Feeling perturbed by the new piece of information, the pathologist decided to check on Mrs Semple first, just to reassure herself, before telling Mycroft Holmes about it. Irene Adler might jeopardise Sherlock's safety even if he planned to never return.

Molly asked for the driver to wait outside and entered the cottage. She was shaken by the ghastly sight and bile rose up to her throat. The servants were on either side of the foyer as they would when greeting a guest except they were all dead. Mrs Semple was missing. The need to find her was so strong, Molly disregarded the danger she was currently in and chose to search for the housekeeper on her own but to no avail.

That being said, the pathologist was not expecting a blow to the back of her head when she rounded a corner. Molly was knocked unconscious and a brooch fell off when they moved her. Moriarty then picked up the object, examining it with interest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's 'blessing' roughly means to hold your hand until we both grow old.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.

Molly woke up with blurry eyes. She pushed herself up from the cold floor, swaying like a drunken man. Where was she? Where was Mrs Semple? Disoriented, the pathologist scanned her surroundings and frowned. It was a rectangular room with one door at the back and a big window on the right but there was no door handle so Molly banged on it with ferocity.

The wall in front of the pathologist withdrew and a glass panel was revealed. Seated behind it was a woman who bore a marked resemblance to her.

_Brunette and brown eyes, just like you, Molly._

“You are Professor James Moriarty?” The pathologist wondered and the woman giggled. She then spoke through a device and her voice was transmitted to the room. “He is our father, silly. I only used his name because people take a male consulting criminal far more seriously, a most unfortunate fact for us women but the truth nevertheless.”

_Our father?_

What the bloody hell was going on?

“Where is Mrs Semple?” Eurus Moriarty tiled her head to her left and Molly blanched at what she saw. “Oh my god, Mrs Semple! Mrs Lippett!” The two elderly ladies were lowered down to where the window was at. They hang in mid-air, bounded and gagged. “They are innocent, they did nothing wrong! Let them go, Eurus!”

The pathologist froze. Why did she call her Eurus? How did she even know her name?

Eurus smirked at both her elder sister’s desperate pleads and shocking realisation. “You are finally recollecting your past, Molly-Lily. Memories cannot be supressed forever, can they? Now, shall we play a game? A game of justice, like how we used to play when we were young but I will let you be the judge and I the executor for this round.”

The consulting criminal gestured to her prisoners, “Who do you think deserve to die more? Mrs Semple who shamelessly lived in _our_ house after we were taken away or Mrs Lippett who hid you for so many years? Your verdict, sister dear?”

“What will you do to them?” Molly questioned softly even though the pathologist knew what would happen to whoever she condemned. “Death penalty, of course. We are rather lucky there is a cliff right under their feet. The drop below should ensure their immediate demise.”

The pathologist could make out the waves crashing against the rocky shores. “I am still waiting for your verdict, Molly and I am not a patient person.”

_“Do you want to play hide-and-seek with us?” Little Molly in her pigtails asked. Eurus shook her head, “I am not finished with dissecting the squirrels. Why not join me, Molly-Lily?”_

Molly’s eyes glazed over as her long-forgotten childhood began to come back in the form of fuzzy and fragmented flashbacks.

“I will not take part in your sadist games anymore, Eurus.” The pathologist spoke firmly but the slight tremor in her voice told another story.

“And yet you had enjoyed yourself in the past so why would this time be any different? We are no different, Molly. We are twins after all, fraternal but the bond between us is just as strong. Why else did you become a pathologist? I am giving you one last chance.”

No verdict passed through Molly’s lips.

Her stubborn behaviour stoked the flames of Eurus’ anger. “Very well, you have stated your stance on this matter and so will I.” The consulting criminal snapped her fingers. The ropes holding Mrs Semple and Mrs Lippett loosened, sending both of them to meet their maker. Molly would always remember the horrified looks on their faces. “I am also not a forgiving person, Molly.”

Eurus then rubbed her hands in glee, looking forward to their next game. “After we became orphans, Rudolph Holmes tried to lock me up in an institution and you in an asylum as a way to separate us. It did not work for I had escaped. His successor, Mycroft Holmes managed to keep you away from my reach for some more years as I slowly build my criminal empire. I therefore required someone to get close to you.”

The door slid open and Thomas Doyle entered with a revolver held limply in his hand. The couple looked at each other wordlessly, one in utter disbelief and the other in deep sorrow. “Is Thomas Doyle even your real name?”

“Thomas Sebastian Doyle Moran. Doyle is my mother’s maiden name.” Eurus added, “And our mother’s too.” Molly knew it would merely bring her more pain yet she could not help but burrow further. “So your frequent trips to New York were just a guise so you can secretly carry out her orders?”

The consulting criminal was generous when it came to praising her favourite sniper, “Our cousin here is a crack shot. McBride, Mr Semple, the servants were all his handiworks. Though it was quite a waste of his talent when I told him to kill the butler with a bee stinger but I needed a reason for you to return to the cottage and the cause of his death would certainly make you question.”

However, her speech turned dark quickly. “I had only one rule for him to obey but he was still able to break it – falling in love with you and wanting to marry you. In his dead dreams, I say! For that, Moran shall be punished! End his life, Molly or I will end yours and do not bother committing suicide, Moran. You can only save her if she kills you.”

Molly remained motionless.

“What are you waiting for? Kill him! Either way, he is going to die or do you prefer to follow him to Hades?” Thomas placed the firearm into her palm, “I would like to say I am remorseful but I am not because if I regretted my actions, I would never have met you, Molly. Even if I was given a second chance, I would not change a thing because everything I did had led me to you. I am a sinful man yet I was blessed to call myself your fiancé…”

Thomas wiped away Molly’s tears as she mumbled despairingly, “N-no…no…no,” while he tightened his grip over her hand that was holding the revolver now. “How I wish I can hold you like this for eternity, my love. I know you will not kill me despite my sins because you have the kindest heart and soul. When this is all over, go find Sherlock Holmes and tell him your true feelings. Remember that I love you, Molly Hooper.”

Pulling her along, the sniper pressed the muzzle under his chin and fired. Molly screamed as his blood spluttered across her face. He fell to the ground and the pathologist followed. Thomas’ eyes were wide open but his hand did not let go of hers. He died holding Molly as per his wish.    

Sobs racking her body, Molly laid on his chest where she could no longer hear any heartbeat from him as her cries echoed within the room. “Now, now. Dry your tears, Molly-Lily. One more game to go.” Eurus smiled at her bereaved twin. The wall on the left parted into two and the pathologist locked eyes with Sherlock Holmes.

“Molly…” The consulting detective was at loss for words. He had heard everything.

“This is vivisection, Sherlock.” Molly laughed and tears continued to tumble down her already soaked cheeks.  

“For the final game, you have my word that no one is going to die, Molly. All he has to do is to say the release code.” The consulting criminal announced happily. “What release code?” Eurus pointed to the coffin lying behind Sherlock. The lid was propped up against the wall and on it was a metal plate.

I LOVE YOU

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. “If he does not say those three words in three minutes then the coffin which I have prepared for him will be put to good use. Your time starts now.” The pathologist took one last look at Thomas and stood up. Walking towards the consulting detective, Molly saw his bruised hands. He must have been trying to tear open the wall standing between them.

“I do not know what exactly Eurus is up to but I need you to say those words, Sherlock.” Molly’s voice hardened with fear. “I cannot…I cannot say it.” The consulting detective’s eyes darted from left to right, looking anywhere but her. “Two minutes left,” Eurus informed the pair. “Sherlock, I am not going to let you die like this. I did not fake your death for you to still die in the end. I am not going to let it happen, do you understand?”

“I cannot, Molly. Not to you.” The pathologist was getting riled up by his ‘explanation’ which frankly did not throw any light as to why he was so determined in not saying the release code to save his own life. “Why not?” Molly retorted. “One minute left!” The consulting criminal counted down in high spirits.

“You know why.” She snapped angrily, “No, I do not know why!” Sherlock murmured, “Because it is true, Molly. It has always been… _true_.” The pathologist replied with a blank face. “Well, if it is true, you will find saying it with no difficulty then.” He chuckled at her response. “I did not fall in love with the wrong woman.”

“Say it anyway.” The consulting detective raised his hand and timidly touched her cheek caked with dried blood, Moran’s blood shed to protect her. “I…I love you.”    

“Bravo! Well done, Molly-Lily. Well said, Sherlock Holmes.” Eurus clapped sarcastically. The pathologist stared at the two ropes swinging emptily then at Thomas, the man who had lied to her as much as he had loved her and lastly at Sherlock, the man Molly should not love but loved anyway.

The pathologist backed away from him and faced her sister. “What made our mother’s health deteriorated so rapidly that she died, Eurus?”

_Gone were the heydays as the mistress who was already in ill health took a sudden turn for the worse and passed away weeks later. The master was so distraught by his loss; he did the unthinkable…_

“You are finally asking the right questions, Molly. It was my first crime and I was young so I was sloppy, very sloppy. I did not make sure he was the boy I wanted to kill before pushing him into the well to drown.”

_“Come on, Molly, we are going to play pirates. I am Yellowbeard and Victor is Redbeard. You can be the mermaid and we will fight over you.”_

_Molly was in a dilemma and bit her thumb. Moments later, she came to a decision. “I will come back soon to assist you, Eurus. I will be quick about it, pinkie-promise!”_

_The trio ran off merrily and Eurus looked on with a mixture of emotions boiling inside of her. Betrayal, sadness, possessiveness, jealously, anger and the desire to draw blood, the blood of Sherlock Holmes to be precise._

He was as white as a sheet. “Redbeard was not a dog; he was Victor. Victor Trevor, my childhood best friend and you killed him!” The consulting criminal grinned at Sherlock’s reaction. “Purely by accident of course, you were my intended target. I see your memories are also coming back, Holmes.”

Molly had enough. “You killed a boy and drove both of our parents to their graves when you were only a child. I hardly need to mention the crimes you have committed after you grew up. This ends here,” The pathologist picked up the firearm and pressed it under her chin. “You are hunting down the Holmes family because of me so if I die, you will have nothing to gain anymore. I am the prize for the chase.”

“Does it mean I have won the game, Eurus?” Before Molly could fire, two darts were shot out from a hole in the wall behind her and darkness consumed the pathologist in a matter of seconds.

 

* * *

 

Molly opened her eyes and the same dizzying sensation accompanied her. The smell of rotting flesh filled her nostrils as the pathologist realised she was lying among the dead servants. Molly had no idea how days had passed since then. The pathologist treaded lightly, careful not to step on the corpses and ascended the stairs.

It might be telepathy between twins; Molly somehow knew the whereabouts of Eurus. The pathologist pushed the door and there she was, playing with the decapitated dolls. Molly nudged away the tiny heads with her toes and sat beside the consulting criminal. Eurus hummed a song that their mother would sing to them every night when it was their bedtime. The pathologist gently combed her fingers through Eurus’ hair as their mother would. She turned and smiled at Molly.

_“Papa is not strong enough to carry on but I trust you will take great care of your younger sister, Molly. I am sorry, poppet but Papa cannot…live without your Mama…I am so sorry, my darling…” He kneeled down and buried his face in Molly’s mourning dress, crying as he begged for his elder daughter’s forgiveness._

_The man got up and walked back to his study room before locking it. Molly leaned against the door, tears streaking down her face but she did not say a word. A ‘pop’ sound was heard and blood seeped through the door, staining her shoes._

“Papa asked me to look after you but I did not keep my promise to him. What happened to us, Eurus? How did we land ourselves in this plight?” The pathologist whimpered painfully. “I also promised to make you my queen, Molly-Lily. You are mine!” Eurus barred her teeth. “Where is Sherlock?” Molly needed to make sure the consulting detective was safe first.

“Dying.” Eurus snickered before bursting into a string of manic laughter. The pathologist pulled Eurus into her arms, “I will be your queen if you tell me where he is.” The consulting criminal brightened up, “Truly?” and Molly nodded gravely.

Heavy footsteps were moving towards them and the door swung opened. “Sherlock is in the well near the oak tree. I fear he does not have much time left. Go, Sherlock needs all the help he can get.” The pathologist’s last sentence was directed to Mycroft Holmes who lingered hesitantly after his men went to rescue the consulting detective. The British Government then departed hurriedly after glancing at Molly, leaving the sisters alone at last.  

Sherlock woke up from his sedated sleep with a start. It was dark, the only light coming from the full moon. The consulting detective deduced he was in a dried up well but water began to gush in, reaching up to his waist in no time. Sherlock attempted to climb out of the well but his legs were chained to the bottom of it.

Eurus Moriarty was determined to finish what she started two decades ago, her first crime of killing Sherlock Holmes.  

The consulting detective was trying to hang onto the slippery surface to remain upright when something floated past his fingers. He frowned and lifted the object out of the water. The moon shone on it and Sherlock knew who the small human skull belonged to.

He struggled to stay above the water when someone called out his name. The consulting detective choked as he yelled, “I-I am here!” A rope was thrown down to him and Sherlock grabbed it for support while holding Victor’s skull. He owned his childhood friend a proper burial.

The Moriarty sisters were quiet until Molly broke the silence, “I am so tired, Eurus.” The consulting criminal headed towards the lantern, their sole light source. “It is alright. We are together now, Molly-Lily and it is all that matters.” The lantern was smashed and fire spread rapidly. Perhaps this was for the best, Molly thought. No more consulting criminal, no more killings, no more hatred…

All would end today.

Eurus danced around the burning room and the pathologist simply stood there, feeling numb. “Molly!” A sopping wet Sherlock cried out and raced over to her. He jumped into the circle of fire and tried to yank her away from the danger. “I cannot just leave her; she is my sister no matter what! I will not abandon her, not again!”

The flames were now licking the ceiling and the beam above them creaked nosily where it was about to drop anytime. Eurus shoved Molly aside and the beam landed on her instead. The termite-infested floor could not bear such weight and gave way. Eurus disappeared as she fell through the gaping hole. The pathologist shouted for her twin but there was no answer.

“We need to leave now; the structure of the house is becoming unstable as we speak!” Mycroft urged and they dragged Molly out of the cottage. Minutes later, the trio watched the house being burnt down to the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eurus Moriarty is a combination of Eurus Holmes and Jim Moriarty, a psychopath but I still feel for her...


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.

Mycroft Holmes sat down by the fire place while nursing a glass of fine brandy. It was well into the night but not uncommon for the British Government to be awake at this ungodly hour. The reason behind his vigil however was not due to work.

He raised a cynical eyebrow at his damnable state. It was not often that feelings would sneak up on him for he was the master of his own emotions but when they did, it was all too much for Mycroft. It was the only thing truly out of the British Government’s control. She was his one exception yet Mycroft did not have the heart, if he actually possessed one, to blame her for it was not her fault.

Molly did not ask him to love her, like how she did not ask Mycroft to visit her at the Ladies’ College when the point of sponsoring her anonymously was to limit their contact to a minimal. Nor did she ask him to visit her again at the cottage when the aim was to trigger her traumatising memories so they could better exploit Molly, so she could lure her sister out of hiding.  

The consulting criminal was evil but they were no better. Mycroft was no angel, he was not Sherlock. The moment Eurus Moriarty escaped her personal prison; Molly was destined to be their bait. As Uncle Rudy’s successor, Mycroft would have to make full use of her. No means too dirty, no methods too abominable, no acts too immoral. Everything was done for the _greater good_. Nothing could be done wrong when one was on the _good side_.

The current British Government smirked to himself. At least that was what his uncle had told him and what Mycroft had told himself repeatedly.

Everything was planned to the tiniest of details. The scheme supposedly included counteractive measures against all kinds of scenarios but they had forgotten that a flawless plan did not exist in this world. They had missed one situation, highly improbable though still possible to occur – the mastermind falling in love with the bait. Mycroft was not sure which was more laughable; the fact that they did not consider it or that it did take place.

Mycroft was glad he realised it soon enough and marriage suddenly became a welcoming idea but the British Government very nearly dismissed the ridiculous notion when he saw her in tears at the Christmas Ball. Mycroft did go after Molly, only to stop in his foolish pursuit when he saw her running into his brother.

There were times when he was immensely envious of his brother. Sherlock was brave enough to follow his consulting detective dream, to live his life the way he wanted. His most embarrassing moment must be when Sherlock flaunted the sliver watch chain to him and jealously reared its ugly head in Mycroft. Childish behaviour of course but there was an odd sense of satisfaction at the same time.

He had kept a lot of things inside of him, as expected of the British Government. To know of everything yet speak of nothing. Still, Mycroft carried on with the plan where he understood the amount of pain Molly would be subjected to but she would have Sherlock by her side, something which the British Government had also ensured. It was akin to giving the child a sweet after a slap.

Mycroft turned his attention to the small pile of letters written by Molly to Mr John Smith. “The British Government now collects mementos too.” A bitter smile formed upon his self-mocking.  

Clutching the letters, Mycroft chucked them in the fireplace. The flames ate them up hungrily but the British Government regretted his decision at once. Grabbing the poker, Mycroft tried to retrieve whatever was left of the letters. Desperate, he even patted out the dying fire with his bare hands, trying to save them as much as possible. Looking at the remains of Molly’s letters, Mycroft found a better term to describe his love for her.

Futile just like those ashes.

The British Government poured himself another glass of brandy as he rubbed his eyes. The smoke had gotten into them; that was all.

 

* * *

 

“Is it wrong of me if I say I want nothing to do with our family home anymore? It is gone now anyway. ” Molly spoke to the three tombstones in their ancestral graveyard. Two were decades old while the third one was newly erected. She received no answer save for a light breeze blowing through her hair.

“I will take it as you have approved of my decision to donate the land to John Grier Home. The visiting committee will decide what they want to do with it. I need to move on. I do not know how to continue my life after this but I will try my best, Papa and Mama. I am sorry, Eurus. I have failed you as your elder sister, forgive me…”

Sherlock stopped listening to the personal dialogue Molly was having with her family. He had felt like an intruder. Their conversation of that fateful night unfortunately made the consulting detective lost his usual confidence. It was also as if Molly had decided on their behalf that they would not talk about it but she had allowed him to follow her around like a lost puppy too. Genuinely unsure of himself, Sherlock decided not to push Molly. He would wait for her. For his entire life if needed.

The pathologist returned with her posture now more visibly relaxed. Molly touched his cheekbone lightly, “The swelling has gone down quite a bit.” Sherlock grimaced at how he had received a black eye in the first place. “I would be concerned if it did not, Molly. It has been days since John hit me. The doctor does have a good swing when it comes to throwing punches.”

Molly swallowed down her laughter, being one of the lucky few who had witnessed it. “In his defence, John thought you were dead. It was such a happy reunion, you two were hugging and cry-” The consulting detective argued, “We did not cry. I could not speak for John but _I_ did not cry though he probably did.”

“So how does it feel like returning from the dead?” Molly asked teasingly. “It was a humbling experience. Death has opened up my eyes, it taught me to treasure what I have.” He squeezed her hand before letting go begrudgingly. “Sherlock, I do not think I have ever officially apologised to you for Victor’s death, for everything Eurus did.”  

“Molly, Victor’s death was not your fault neither was Eurus’ doings. Do you remember what I told Mary? We need to free ourselves from the shackles of our pasts. I will help you; I will be here for you. We will help each other. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?”

The pathologist leaned in and twined her arms around his lower back instead. Beaming, Sherlock kissed Molly’s hair and shared his coat with her tiny frame. “Would you like to go home now?”

Molly was home now, in Sherlock’s embrace.  

.

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.

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A package addressed to Dr Hooper was delivered to St Bart’s and Dr Stamford very kindly placed it on her desk. In it contained a bee brooch and a note.

_DID YOU MISS ME?_

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is my longest one ever and sincere thanks for clicking into my fic! I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it :D Once again, thank you!


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